Consequences
by Sebe
Summary: Dean's been drinking more and more lately and Sam hasn't completely called him out on it. Dean thinks he's fine to hunt, but he ends up making a mistake that could cost him his brother. Season 7.


Summary: Dean's been drinking more and more lately and Sam hasn't completely called him out on it. Dean thinks he's fine to hunt, but he ends up making a mistake that could cost him his brother. Season 7.

Author's Notes: So I think eventually the issue with Dean's drinking will come to a head, but I think it's going to take something pretty big for him to face it and not just blow it off. Namely, Sam getting hurt or at least almost getting hurt, so here's my version. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

**Consequences- part 1**

Dean drained the last bit of his beer, ignoring the sidelong look Sam was giving him. His brother had been hinting around that he thought Dean was drinking too much, but he hadn't outright cornered him yet. Dean was betting that he wouldn't.

Sam hadn't really taken a strong stand against Dean since Lucifer; the last time Dean insisted he was right and Sam had outright defied him. After that global disaster and the subsequent smaller ones, Dean was pretty sure Sam just didn't trust his own decision making skills anymore, deferring to Dean if pushed. Dean felt a little bit bad about the reason Sam wasn't saying anything being his own guilt and insecurity, but at the moment it was saving him an annoying, heartfelt 'talk', so he was gonna go with it.

Dean turned and Sam looked at him with a slight frown, eying the empty bottle.

"This thing could show up tonight, you know." That was as close as Sam would get to saying, _'We're on a hunt, what the hell are you thinking?'_

Dean shrugged, already searching in the mini fridge.

"Full moon's not till tomorrow. Most of the nasties like to come out on a schedule. We're only going out there on a long shot."

"Dean, we don't even really know what this thing is yet. Don't you think-"

"Sam." Dean met Sam's worry-creased eyes with a hard look and, after a moment, Sam backed down, looking back at the computer screen. Dean made his way back to the bed, taking the top off a new bottle. "So what do we know about this thing?"

"Uh, it comes out at night, only on full moons so far. It only hits in areas around the woods, no more than a couple miles out. Eats the liver, mutilates the rest, and doesn't leave any witnesses." Sam grimaces in distaste. "Even got the family dog last time."

Dean forces a smile as he keeps packing the arsenal for the night.

"Great."

He doesn't neglect to notice how Sam keeps watching him.

Sam had driven. Not because he'd confronted Dean or taken the keys or anything dramatic like that, just because he'd somehow already had the keys and gotten in the driver's side and Dean hadn't wanted to argue about it. He let Sam drive sometimes, after all.

They stalked through the woods, Sam with a shotgun, Dean with a handgun with silver and iron rounds, they'd brought everything with them but the kitchen sink. Even Bobby hadn't been able to turn up any definite creature this could be, only possibilities. And yeah, it sucked and wasn't ideal to go after something when you didn't know what it was or what it was vulnerable to, but it wasn't like they had much of a choice here. Bodies were piling up.

"See anything yet?"

Dean immediately bristled in irritation. Sam was about fifteen feet away from him, how the hell would he have seen anything that Sam hadn't?

"You know, we might have a bit more luck if you'd start looking somewhere I'm not." He managed to keep most of the bite out of his voice. He knew his brother was looking out for him, but that was what was bothering him.

Sam shrugged it off.

"Better if we stick together since it's an unknown, right?"

Dean knew what he was doing, but he let it go. He'd stumbled once. Once. And Sam was making a huge deal out of it. Dean would admit that he might have had one too many at the wrong time, but it wasn't like he was blacked out. He was functioning perfectly well. He'd gotten used to the slight delay of scenery when he turned his head too fast. Nothing that interfered with the job, not when they weren't even likely to get anything tonight.

He made it awhile longer before Sam spoke up again.

"Hey, I can carry the bag for bit now."

Dean stopped, Sam, predictably stopped with him.

"Yeah, you can carry the bag." He tossed it at Sam's feet since the kid was that close to him, like a barnacle. "You can carry it while you take the left and I go right."

Sam had that worried grimace on his face, sighing in a burdened way that only further aggravated his brother.

"Dean-"

"Take. The bag, Sam." Dean managed with only a bit of a growl. The planned distance was as much for Sam as himself. He didn't want to yell at Sam. He tried very hard now, actually, to not get legitimately angry at his brother. Sam had enough crap on his shoulders and that seemingly-permanent kicked puppy expression killed Dean every time. He just needed some space to cool down before he could deal with Sam's well-intentioned, but not needed, concern.

Sam looked like he was ready to argue, but Dean didn't give him the chance. He moved off and, soon enough, he heard Sam veering the other way, like Dean had told him.

They were making a slow circle, scouting, not too far into the woods on Sam's insistence. He wanted to be cautious with this one, they both did. Dean didn't let on like Sam did, but not knowing what they were looking for had him on edge. And when Dean was on edge, he drank a little more than even he thought he should.

He had felt a little guilty about drinking on the way here while Sam was driving. He didn't know _why_ he felt guilty, exactly. They regularly had bodies in the trunk or shovels on the way to or from a grave desecration, so what was the big deal about open containers in the car? Dean thought it was all those freakin' 'above the influence' ads working their subliminal magic on him. So yeah, he felt guilty (Dean Winchester, guilty? Who knew?), but that didn't stop him anymore than a worried little brother.

Shaking the fragments of thought from his head, Dean pressed on. After awhile he stopped and sighed, shaking his head at himself. He knew they weren't gonna find anything tonight, but he'd still let Sam drag him out here where he had to think; had to keep his head in the game and wasn't able to lose himself in a glass and, hopefully, a hot bartender.

"Sammy, Sammy," he muttered as he pulled his flask from his jacket and took a swig. "What I let you talk me into."

He drained the remainder of the liquid and felt the beginnings of thinking that Sam might be right about the drinking when his first thought was _'where's the closest bottle?'_. Dean frowned, deciding he might cut back a bit just to prove to Sam that there wasn't an issue.

He stashed the flask quickly when he heard rustling somewhere in front of him. Gun up, he called out.

"Sam?"

No answer. Cautiously, eyes scanning left and right, he moved forward. A noise behind him and he spun to again find nothing.

"…Crap."

Dean fumbled for his cell with one hand, about to call Sam in for backup when he was smashed against a tree. Wind knocked out of him, Dean got himself upright as quick as he could, gun ready and looking all around.

Whatever it was, he couldn't see it and he didn't dare look down long enough to find the cell that had been knocked out of his hands. He muttered to himself.

"Where are you, you son of a bitch?"

Dean spun as he heard movement on his left, firing a shot that hit nothing but air. He caught only a glimpse of something with fur. Something with fur, standing upright, with claws. Why had he gotten them to split up? There was no way Sam could get here in time to help him, even if he had heard the shot, which Dean couldn't be sure he had.

Amidst a constant stream of curses, Dean tried to follow the noise the creature was making, circling him like the predator it was. He was getting a bit dizzy and he realized too late that was what this, clearly marginally intelligent, thing was going for.

He spun once more only to come face to face with it. Dean knew he was in trouble when he knew there was only one of them, but saw two. Dean got another shot off that he wasn't sure hit and, even if it did, was clearly ineffective. It was quick, maybe as quick as a wendigo, and it had him. Dean darted to the side as it struck, claws catching his shirt sleeve and cutting like razors.

"Dammit!"

He knew he couldn't dodge that again and the trees were spinning around him and his thumb slipped on the hammer and he knew that people said it all the time, but he really never thought it would end like _this_.

"Dean!"

Sam was in between them, firing the shotgun, before Dean even realized he was close. The shot hit, but it was about as effective as Dean's had been. The impact and appearance of a new potential threat must have thrown the creature off though because it aborted its charge at Dean, drawing back. But not before it caught Sam's arm and side and Dean heard his soft grunt of pain.

"Sam!"

"I'm okay! Did you get it?" Everything was moving so fast and Dean was struggling to keep up, to focus. "Dean!"

"Don't think I hit it. Not with both anyway."

Sam was still between Dean and the creature and Dean's first thought was _'get the hell behind me'_. That was his job. He was the protector, not the protected. But he couldn't manage it right now, couldn't even manage a cohesive full sentence.

Sam opened his mouth to tell Dean to blast it at the same time the creature came at them again. Dean hit it this time, he knew he did and he knew it was with the iron round. But then everything went wrong.

Iron did nothing but piss it off and it knocked Sam sideways to the ground, quickly pinning him. Everything after that was a blur. Sam managed to dig a knife into its throat when it tried to gut him and he was screaming; he and Sam were both yelling, calling out for their brother, in concern, in command, _'shoot it!'_.

Dean saw red and he fired and there was a third yell, an animal howl of pain as the silver did the trick, got the bastard off of Sammy. Dean saw Sam scramble to his feet as Dean landed a second silver round through the flailing monster's head and it dropped.

Heavy adrenaline-laced breathing was the only sound as Dean's brain caught up with events. He kept his eyes on the creature, making damn sure it didn't so much as twitch. Cautiously, he approached the corpse, kicking it with his boot and waiting for a reaction before allowing himself to huff a breath of relief.

He holstered his gun and was slow to turn around, knowing he was going to get it from Sam and knowing he didn't have a defense. There was no way Sam hadn't noticed his slow reaction time and there was no way he could even deny it to himself, but he still dreaded the lecture.

"Dean."

"Yeah, I know, I know. You're right and I'm sorry, okay? I'm gonna cut back. No more drinking during hunts." He meant it. Dean knew he had messed up, even if he was playing it lightly right now. He held his hands up in mock surrender as he turned to face the music.

Dean grimaced a bit, noting Sam's arm clenched over his side where the monster had gotten him. Dean knew it wasn't deep or threatening, but he always hated seeing Sam hurt. Especially when it was on him.

"Can we just get back to the room and patch you up before you tear me a new one?"

"Dean." Sam said again and Dean was immediately alert, laser-focused in a way that not even facing an unknown killer creature had managed to make him. Sam's voice was too breathy, his face too pale, posture too hunched.

Dean was there in an instant, hand on Sam's shoulder, bending to look in his eyes.

"Sammy? What's wrong?" _'Did it get you worse than I thought? Was I too slow? What's going on?'_

Sam tried to say something else, but choked a bit, the barest hint of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth and Dean went cold. Sam looked down and Dean followed. Dean hadn't been able to see in the dark from where he had been, but he saw now. Blood seeped out from between his brother's fingers and Sam slowly drew his hand away from clutching his midsection.

"Shit." Dean cursed softly, his fingers scrambling and slipping in the mess to pull Sam's shirt up. "What did it get? What did it get?" he muttered frantically to himself. Dean couldn't see through the blood, swiping it away to get a look at the wound, but Sam listed suddenly.

"Whoa, whoa, I got you. I got you." Dean guided him down as gently as he could in the urgency, sopping up the blood with his own sleeves. The claw marks curved around Sam's side, bleeding, but superficial. But in the front…

A round, weeping wound above Sam's left hip and reality dropped out from under Dean.

He pressed against the wound instinctually, but his eyes were wide, whispering in disbelief.

"I shot you, I shot you…"

No. No, no, no, no. He couldn't have. He'd never- Sammy, oh god, what did he do?

Dean was hyperaware as Sam found his words again.

"'s'okay. Dean…Dean, s'okay."

Dean wanted to yell and rave about how not okay this was, but he had to get Sam out of here. Back to the car, to the hotel. Maybe to the hospital when he could see what damage he'd done. He could fall apart and self-destruct after he took care of Sam. Not now. It was not okay to lose it now.

"Come on. Come on." He started to coax Sam into standing, pulling his arm around to help, hand gripping the side of Sam's waist that wasn't clawed up.

"Bag." Sam was saying as he pulled him up. "Dean, the bag. Get the bag."

Dean didn't even take the time to tell Sam _'fuck the bag'_, just began walking as quick as Sam was able to keep up back to the car.

Almost without realizing it, Dean kept up a steady stream of nonsense reassurances, a habit he always had when Sam was hurt. He always repeated himself too. Maybe as a kind of comfort to them both, but it served another purpose right now, preventing him from getting lost in the thought of _how_ Sam had been hurt. Guilt and horror later, help now.

"It's okay. It's okay, Sam. You're gonna be fine. I'm gonna get you patched up, alright?" It wasn't far to the car, but it felt like forever. "Come on, Sammy, talk to me. Just talk."

Sam tried, he did, but he couldn't keep it up. After only a few minutes, Sam's voice dropped off and he hung more heavily against Dean. He was clearly disoriented, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other like Dean told him to. But he was just so tired…

"Dean…"

More like a breath than a word, it was the only warning Dean got before Sam went completely limp in his hold, dragging them both to the ground.

"Sam! Sam! Wake up!" He shook Sam, yelled at him, pressed on his wounds, but Sam's eyelids only fluttered briefly. They were so close, Dean could practically see the car. "Just a little further, Sammy", he pleaded. Dean thought he heard what had been meant to be _'sorry'_ come out of Sam's mouth and he let out a hysterical sob. Sam couldn't be sorry. He hadn't done anything and he wasn't going anywhere.

Dean pulled Sam up so that his head rested in the crook of Dean's shoulder, face against his neck. He got an arm behind Sam's back and another under his knees and he had no idea _how_ he did it, but he picked his sasquatch of a brother up.

With stumbling, heavy steps, Dean managed to mostly carry, then drag his brother the last length to the car. Arms and hands trembling, Dean pulled open the passenger door and lifted Sam in. He grabbed a shirt from the back and pressed it hard against Sam's stomach, pulling Sam's own hand over the material as he groaned in pain.

"Keep that there, you hear me? Sam, press down." Sam's eyelids only fluttered again, but he did put pressure on like Dean told him. "Good boy, good boy."

Dean shut the door and scrambled over to the driver's side. He went for the keys and cursed when they weren't in his pocket, only one more reminder that all of this was because of him. Reaching over to Sam, he told him again to press down and rummaged for the keys in his coat pocket, thankfully finding them quickly.

He started her up and peeled rubber.

"Sam?" His voice was hard, commanding, eyes darting between the road and Sam, reaching over with one hand to help him press down. "Sam, you gotta talk to me. You don't say anything and we're going straight to the hospital."

He knew it was a risk, more than a risk. They'd either be eaten or killed or arrested, maybe all three in varying order, but if the alternative was watching his brother bleed out…

"No."

"What?" He had to be sure. Sam had to be sure. "Sam-"

Sam licked his lips and forced his eyes open a crack.

"…No…hospital." Sam's head still lolled on the back of the seat and Dean was anything but convinced. "Can't…"

"If we have to-"

"No." Sam forced his voice to be clearer, firmer. He swallowed against the nauseous feeling that came along with blood loss and, with great effort, managed to turn to look at Dean, to meet his brother's frantic eyes. "You can…patch me up…S'not that bad."

Dean didn't want to listen, everything he was screaming at him to get Sammy help, now. But he forced himself to trust what Sam said, that this wasn't lethal and could be tended to in the room. He stared straight into Sam's eyes for longer than was probably safe while driving before nodding.

"…Okay. Okay. The room it is. Just keep pressure on that, okay?"

He looked back at Sam, who had lost the struggle to keep his eyes open, but was nodding and doing as he was told.

"Okay." Dean said to himself, focusing on the road and pressing harder on the gas. He had to stay calm if he was going to help Sam. He tried to take deep breaths as the motel finally came into view. "Okay…"


End file.
